Overreach - 1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t the fogginess that bothered Elliot, really, it was the wetness. The all-pervasive softness that permeated the air and soaked into anything that could absorb it; it was unavoidable, and the damp, dreary days did little to improve anyone’s mood. Huew was an old city - no one knew quite how long it had existed - but nearly everyone agreed that its foundations were set in place long ago. It’s cramped, narrow streets were juxtaposed with the sprawling industrial factories that lay in the middle of the city. Instead of a town hall, there was a town factory. Well, multiple factories. All of which belched acid into the air and toxins in the water - but, it was a small price to pay for having a stable job in these days. It wasn’t like a few decades ago - though the dankness and darkness still were present then. Back then, people seemed to be happier and less downtrodden. How things have changed.

Elliot rounded the corner, his feet nearly silent on the shining cobblestone street. His weekly ritual was about to come to pass, and he thought of nothing as he stopped short at a grey metal door in the side of a nondescript building - not that you could really make any building in the city 'descript', he thought to himself with a dry invisible chuckle. He pounded on it one, then twice, then three time as he waited anxiously for it to be opened. Soon enough, unlocking was heard, and the door opened with an audible moan. A large man, hairy and seemingly forever in the middle of a mid-life crisis, opened the door. Elliot refused to make eye contact at first, but when the man’s silence stretched on for too long, he had to relent.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat. “I came for my weekly pick-up.” He hated looking into the man’s eyes, because all he saw there was barely restrained lust. Usually the man would just grunt, give him a long, uncomfortable undressing with his eyes, and give him the package. But this time was different, and the pit of Elliot’s stomach sank when the man opened the door wider and gave him a grin that somehow didn’t reach his eyes.

“Why don’t you come in, boy,” he said, roughly, still wearing the sour grin. “I have to go fetch the package from the back, so just make yourself comfy.” Elliot stood gaping at him, but then recovered his senses enough to realize that if he wanted what he came for, he’d have to do what the man wanted. He nodded robotically, and stepped inside, taking note of the man’s wife beater and thin golden necklace. Entering into the man’s place was something he had always never wanted, but when he looked around the space, he wanted to leave immediately. The man was a hoarder; he could tell from the stack and stack of newspapers and magazines around the room, some nearing the ceiling. Empty beer bottles and doughnut boxes littered the worn green carpeting around the room, and the kitchen was flush with outdated appliances and the smell of mold. Elliot tried not to visibly gag as the man walked into the back of the house, and then return with a small package wrapped in grey paper. Relief dripped into Elliot’s face, but he regretted it the moment it did. The man, his booze and possibly drug addled brain whirring at maximum capacity, smiled widely and then tossed the package on the couch diagonally behind him. Elliot went from relief to terror in a split second.

The man approached Elliot closer, looking at him with a mixture of utter disdain and unbridled possessiveness. Elliot could smell the rank body odor, and took an involuntary step back, to which the man suddenly reached out and clamped his large hands on Elliot’s shoulders to keep him in place. “I know what you want, boy,” he sneered, his face inching closer to Elliot’s, “But I know what I want too. And the only way you can get what you want, is if I can have what I want.” With that he did two things at once: grabbed Elliot’s package hard, and smashed his lips against a now writhing boy.

Elliot was terrified. Absolutely, and utterly afraid. A million thoughts ran through his head in that second: would he get the package? Could he fight back? If he did, would he have to report this? What about his weekly pick-ups? He needed those. He couldn’t just go to work again like this never happened - this is what all his money was going towards anyway! Suddenly, and with seemingly all instinct behind it, Elliot lashed out, flailing to get any hit he could on the larger, stronger man. He responded by crushing Elliot’s windpipe against the wall with a force so strong it nearly made his eyes bug out. Still thrashing, he kicked the man in the kneecap hard, and when his leg failed him and his arm loosened, Elliot took the advantage and bit the man’s forearm so hard he bit off a chunk of skin completely.

The older man screamed in a mixture of white hot pain and all consuming anger. Elliot spit out the chunk of skin and blood, too worried about what was to come next than what he had just done. He sucked in breath as he was let go, but pain seared the side of his face as the man backhanded him as hard as he could. Elliot stumbled to the side, his face drained of color. He had realized that the man was now completely controlled by anger, and if he didn’t fight back he wouldn’t get out alive. Elliot backed slightly into the kitchen, but was derailed when the man charged full on and tackled the poor, unheavy boy. They landed with an awkward thud against the front bottom of the refrigerator, and both were a blur of limbs to try and get the upper hand. The man’s arm was completely coated in blood, and when he tried to prop himself up using that hand to get in another blow, it failed him and slid, causing his torso to drop and Elliot to scramble out of the once close entanglement. Crawling backwards, frantically, Elliot managed to get to his feet and make his way around the island. The man, too, scrambled up and was on the other side of the island. It was a deadly stalemate.

The look in the man’s eyes were something that Elliot had never seen before, and knew he never wanted to see again. Nigh delirious, the dark-headed boy looked to anything he could use to fight back with. He suddenly found it, and surreptitiously siphoned it into his hand. The man made a move around the table, but Elliot dashed around the other side, and both repeated it again. All he could see now was red, as instinct and adrenaline took over. How dare this man take advantage of him?! A defenseless boy, just wanting medication. Well, fuck him! With a roar that caught both boy and man by total surprise Elliot leaped over the table like a deranged animal and caught the man’s skull with his weapon: a standard, yet hefty, meat tenderizer. The crack and expulsion of air that emanated from the man would haunt Elliot’s dreams for the rest of his life, but he wasn’t done. The man wasn’t dead, but he crumpled to the floor in squirming pain, screaming from the very pit of his self-interested animal being. Elliot followed him, and with each deadly whack that Elliot gave the man’s skull, the more the man stopped twitching and writhing. After a few minutes Elliot, his vision narrowed to the point of blacking out, stopped and peered down clinically at the man, breathing hard. Nothing recognizable was left of his face and head. Nodding as if congratulating himself, Elliot dropped the tenderizer where he stood, walked back into the front room and retrieved the package. He wouldn’t be a victim ever again.

He’d make sure of it.

~ ~ ~

Lawrence Kestle had died before Elliot could say goodbye to him, and for that he’d always be bitter. A strong man in his day, the only image that Elliot would have in his head was the frail, sickly man that had lain in the bed at the house. In the end, Lawrence didn’t even have enough strength to smile.

Aria Kestle now was in the same fate, yet her son - the only one to survive of a set of twins - was trying his hardest to remedy that. She didn’t know where he procured the medication to relieve her pain and agitation, but she was definitely grateful for it. Though she was still bedridden, the medicine that he brought home on a weekly basis made her feel somewhat human again - at least for a few days. But by the end of the week, she was coughing again and her eyes seemed to sink further into her sockets. And it seemed to be happening earlier and earlier in the week these last few months, though she tried to give a brave face for Elliot.

She was resting her eyes when she her the front door slam and footsteps thud towards her. She made a surprised noise when Elliot came into the room, his face bruised and cut. He looked at her and smiled, but she did not like the emptiness that radiated from his eyes.

“What happened?” She asked simply, knowing that she’d never know the answer. Elliot was a taciturn and private kid, and he liked to hold his cards close to his chest. Although she knew Elliot cared for her immensely, she never saw him be completely free with anyone except Lawrence, his father. But, after he died, so did that side of her son, and she assumed she’d never get to see that again, either.

His eyes betrayed something briefly, and then he put the mask back on and waved away her concern. “Fally, at work. Fucker cornered me for stealing his work tools last week.” He paused, almost thoughtfully. “Though I didn’t take them.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “It’s nothing.”

He came forward and procured a package, which he ripped open. The small, black cardboard box was inside, and he pulled the cap off that to reveal three vials and a syringe.

Aria sighed. “How much this week?”

“300,” he said, busying himself with taking out the first vial and fitting into the syringe. Pulling back the stop at the end, he filled the vacuum up with the liquid, and then spurting it a few times to make sure it worked. “Last week it was 280. But as I said, I was expecting it to be a bit more this time.” He bent down and injected his mother once. As he was loading up the second vial, Aria sighed, this time with a more exasperated timbre.

“Elliot, this medication and aiding me is costing you almost a weeks pay. How do you eat?”

Elliot looked at her, agitated. “I have my ways.”

Aria made an unsatisfied noise, but kept silent. She watched her focused, attentive son skillfully reloaded the syringe with the third vial and inject it into her thigh. Finished, he wiped where he injected off with a clean wet-wipe and put her gown back down. He turned away from her, fiddling with box, putting everything back into it so he could discard it.

“Thank you, son. I already feel better,” she said in a stronger voice. She adjusted her sitting position almost as a reinforcement of her statement, sitting taller as his dark eyes silently watched her. He came back up to her, and laid a hand upon hers.

“Of course. I do what I do for you, Ma,” he said with a small smile. That was the most tender he ever got, but she knew that it was more than he ever showed other people. She smiled radiantly in return, patting his hand as he pulled away.

The house the lived in was small and cluttered, but felt homey. It always seemed dark to Elliot; outside was never very bright as it was. Mismatched furniture adorned the front room, but was worn and lived in. The kitchen had no appliances except for a small ice-box that was constantly dripping water out from under it. Elliot tsked to himself, remembering to get that fixed. He wandered his way into the kitchen, checking the shelving to make sure his mother had enough to eat. He decided to fix her evening meal, and once he was done, he brought it to her.

Waking her up with a gentle shake, she sat up gratefully. “Eat, Ma,” he said, placing the tray in front of her. When his stomach growled and her look of near relief melted into regret, he distracted both of them by saying, “I’ll go get your pills.”

Aria took all kinds of pills, most of which came from a generic pill manufacturer in a town somewhat close to them. Elliot wasn’t sure if most of them were placebo or not, but they seemed to make Aria more comfortable, even with the injections, and that he was grateful for. He brought out her pill divider and shook out a handful of pills that she was to take that evening. After swallowing them, she set into her food, and Elliot roamed back into the front room, and then into his own room. Opening his own closet, he found a few energy bars stuffed away and went about munching on those. His hunger satisfied slightly, he lounged on his bed, wary of work the next day. He checked the clock - he needed to go to sleep if he was going to get his 5 hours in. He popped back into his mother’s room to remove the tray and say goodnight, and then fell into bed, exhausted. Though he was battered and bruised, he knew that they couldn’t afford a doctor, so he would just have to suffer through it.

Like he always did.